


The Babbling Heart

by redscudery



Series: Miracle and Wonder [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Anonymous Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Military Kink, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Pre-Canon, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Sherlock Has a Military Kink, University, Vignette, Voyeurism, it can be seen from space, military magazines, sneaking on to military bases is naughty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is not sure he wants to learn to love. Unfortunately, it seems that his body does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In A Corner

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the original Paul Simon lyrics are “the baby with the baboon heart” but I have always heard it as “the baby with the babbling heart”, and so I’m writing it that way. To me, it speaks to Sherlock’s great capacity for love, but also to his uncertainty that he deserves to be loved. The Sherlock in this story is not a “gay baby Sherlock”, but rather someone who is emotionally young and trying desperately to keep his “babbling heart” under wraps and behind walls, because he has to protect himself.

Nothing but rubbish, as usual, Sherlock thought. He had no idea why all his tutors were so bloody boring- Jones tamped a little marijuana in his pipe sometimes, but otherwise, nothing. He wriggled out from under the bed, bored and annoyed. As he turned the mirror to ruffle his hair back into place, though, something shiny caught his eye.  
Aha. Magazine. And it was behind the bureau, so the likelihood of it being pornographic—or at least incriminating—was high.  
Sherlock’s initial reaction when he fished it out and saw the camouflage cover emblazoned with “Eagle” was disappointment. As he flipped through its glossy pages, however, a spread on calisthenics caught his attention--pictures of a muscular, shirtless blonde man in combat trousers performing what appeared to be a complex series of push-ups and jumping jacks. Odd way to spend time, he thought, and turned to an article about lasers.  
The image of the soldier’s shoulders and chest was engraved in his mind, however, and he flipped back. He felt…odd, he thought. Heart rate elevated, breathing more shallow than usual. Why would a magazine do that? He looked again at the pictures. Exaggerated deltoids, empty expression—nothing to…  
Oh.  
OH!  
He reached down and cupped his cock in his hand. Yes, there it was. Arousal.  
And yet, this time, his hand did not feel uncomfortable there, just… pleasant. More than pleasant, even. He gave another, experimental stroke, and shivered. Nice.  
Then he looked at the picture and stroked again, and suddenly he was frantic. He fumbled at his zip and got his cock into his hand, harder than he’d ever felt it in all his prior unsatisfactory experiences. Another stroke and the glans was damp, two more strokes and he was coming, semen splattering the page.  
Panting and surprised, he shook his head. Coincidence, he thought, as he rolled up the magazine and put it his backpack.


	2. Staccato Signals of Constant Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sneaks on to an army base and gets more than he bargained for.

It should have been childishly easy, Sherlock thought, irritably. The sentries had been so predictable in their surveillance patterns that he had practically strolled across the grounds. Unfortunately, he’d been surprised by an off-schedule regiment. Now he was trapped flat on his belly in a barracks attic. 

A door slammed and Sherlock looked down. A lone serviceman, filthy and sweaty. Sherlock watched, spellbound, as the man stripped, each discarded piece of clothing revealing a new swell of muscle. Finally, the soldier removed his pants--olive boxer briefs that clung to everything--and walked towards the shower. 

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably against his excitement. Tiresome, he thought to himself, and looked down again. The soldier, wet now under the shower, had begun to stroke his cock with a slow sensuality. “Tiresome” fled Sherlock’s mind, and “desperate” replaced it. 

 

As he watched the soldier’s soapy hand slick over the reddening head of his cock, Sherlock’s hips rocked against the floor, the tight rise of pleasure taking his breath away. The soldier, balls tight up against his body, leaned one hand against the wall, and came with a deep groan. At the sight of his semen, Sherlock came too, in his pants, a shameful rush of heat and stickiness that left him dizzy.

 

Twice. Twice is a pattern, Sherlock thought, and fled the base.


	3. A Loose Affiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a discovery in Victor's bureau and is caught in the act.

"You’re a virgin!" Victor whispered.  
"I'm not,” Sherlock gasped, “It’s …it's just that I didn't know you were at...at Sandhurst."  
"They kicked me out for behaviour unbecoming an officer, did you know?"  
"No...oh..no."  
"But that doesn't explain why you're wearing my old pants, does it?" Victor gripped Sherlock's erection through the olive fabric, then letting him go and unbuttoning his own shirt, "I think you are a virgin. And I think you get off on these pants.”  
"So?" Sherlock breathed, barely audible.  
"So I am going to put on my dress uniform jacket, and then I am going to suck you until you come."  
Sherlock nearly came right then, the control in Victor's voice hitting him directly in the groin. He fought for clarity, opening his eyes so he could see Victor shrug on the jacket, then bent and just breathed along the length of his cock. He tried to push up, but Victor’s forearms were on his thighs, and so he sat, pinned, helpless, and aching, while Victor finished his slow, tortuous trajectory and began again, this time with his lips. By the time he was ready to peel away the now-damp fabric, Sherlock was wide-eyed and silent, and could only watch as his cock disappeared between Victor’s lips.  
And then he saw nothing at all, only blackness and bliss.


	4. A Hero

When Sherlock got up, John was curled neatly on the couch with a cup of tea, innocuously flipping through an “Eagle” like someone who’d never even held a gun, let alone shot a cabbie.

“Sherlock, why do you have these, anyway?”

Sherlock couldn’t answer.

“I mean, do you realize how they glorify the military, which, frankly, is very un-glorious?”

“Says the man who went to war as a medic.”

“I didn’t go for the glamour.”

“You like the uniform.” Stupid, Sherlock thought, as soon as the words left his mouth.

“It is a bit of a perk- everything given to you, right down to the pants. Saves making choices in the morning.” John said airily. Sherlock tried to look nonchalant, but the word ‘pants’ had had their customary effect.

“You,” he coughed, “Shame you had to give it all up.”

“Ah, no, they let you keep the pants. I still have them somewh…Sherlock, you okay?”

Fine time for you to develop observation skills, John, Sherlock thought, and shifted. He was aroused now to the point of discomfort, fully erect in pyjamas that were incredibly unforgiving, and he knew that John would notice any second because John noticed physical symptoms and…

“Hey. Sherlock. Seriously. You okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll go get dressed.” Ignoring John’s sceptical grimace, Sherlock disappeared back into his bedroom.


	5. Turnaround

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been clear to Sherlock since the pants incident that the presence of John Watson intensifies everything, and that doesn't just include Sherlock’s military kink.

Sherlock came into the living room, wet and aggravated after a fruitless search through selected Marylebone dumpsters.  
“Back then?” John asked.  
“Obviously.” What did John have in his hand, Sherlock wondered. A letter? No, who’d send him a letter? Not a bill, not from family… oh! One shiny corner, another—old photographs, then. Military.  
“Love letters, John?”  
“Just a couple of old company pictures.”  
Sherlock glanced down. Photos of a younger John Watson in uniform. He could barely breathe. He’d finally encountered an irresistible sexual force, and the only way to stop it interfering with his work was to deal with it.  
“Perfect,” he said, taking them, “I’ve been wanting to test the effect of blood on photo paper.”  
“Sherlock!”  
But Sherlock was already in his room. Shrugging out of his coat, he sat on the bed and retrieved the lubricant from the bedside drawer. He freed his cock and squirted it with lube with newly minted efficiency, but at the first touch of his fingers, slick and cool, he paused. If he came right away, his head would be clear. Then, though, he looked at the photos. John’s younger face looked back, his blue eyes wrinkled against the sun.  
Sherlock tipped his head back and stroked slowly, letting the sweetness in John’s eyes bring him gently to quiet, shuddering breathlessness.


End file.
